


Continuing Education

by sc010f



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-22
Updated: 2011-01-22
Packaged: 2017-10-14 23:26:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/154634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sc010f/pseuds/sc010f
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock has a plan to catch a master criminal, but he needs John's help. Or perhaps just an audience. Either way, John's not impressed. Or is he? Pre-slash.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Continuing Education

"Get your gun, you're coming with me."

"Sherlock, I just got _home_ ," John whinged.

"I need you, John." Sherlock dropped his voice an octave and waited for it to take effect. "It could be…"

"If you say 'dangerous,' I will push you down the stairs."

"I was going to say 'fun.'"

" _Fine_. Where are we going?"

Sherlock grabbed his coat and propelled John down the stairs.

"The Mary Ward Centre in Bloomsbury."

John tripped on the last step and stumbled into the wall.

"What? Why?"

"You're going to sign up for an art class."

"Me? Why me?"

"Because I'm going to be watching the other students, and _you_ are going to be carrying your gun."

* * *

John Hamish Watson had never taken an art class in his life.

The required classes at his school had been an exercise in nicking glue and tacks and throwing blobs of paint at David "Arsey" Marcy.

But living with Sherlock had been a never-ending source of new experiences, so why not learn about figure drawing and negative space?

Sherlock had vanished the moment they'd walked in the door, leaving John to register and find the classroom on his own.

Of course.

The girl next to him was pretty enough, and the teacher, a rumpled looking woman with long, purple hair, seemed relatively harmless, so perhaps it wasn't going to be so terrible.

But why did he need to be _armed_ , for Christ's sake? Where the hell was Sherlock?

The second question was answered when the door opened and, clad in nothing but a robe and a smile, Sherlock Holmes entered the classroom and ascended the podium.

"We'll start with the… form today," said the instructor, waving in Sherlock's general direction as the robe slithered away from Sherlock's shoulders and down to the floor.

"Do pay attention… to the… bone structure, especially around the face and eyes," the instructor crooned as Sherlock stared into middle distance, broodingly.

* * *

What followed was one of the most uncomfortable hours of John's life.

Really, he'd almost rather have another date ruined by a kidnapping than have to try and watch his classmates for suspicious activity _and_ draw his naked flatmate.

The fact that Sherlock did, in fact, have a rather nice arse did not help the situation one bit.

John shifted on his stool and glanced at the girl beside him.

And then looked away very quickly when he saw just which portion of Sherlock's anatomy she was drawing, mostly because she wasn't really exaggerating very much.

Sherlock continued to brood on the platform.

John returned to his paper and stared at the blank sheet.

"Ah, you're… the new one," the instructor said, wafting over to him.

"Erm, yes."

"Have you much experience in… figure drawing?" she asked.

"Well, that is, no."

Sherlock turned his head slightly and glared at him. _Play along,_ the glare said.

John glared back. _Put some bloody clothes on._

Sherlock returned his stare to the broody middle distance. _Not likely, the game is on!_

"Here," said the instructor, "take your charcoal and…"

Whatever she was going to say was interrupted when Sherlock leapt from the platform and tackled the small, toad-like woman in the corner who had just reached into her bag.

"Sherlock!" John cried. "What are you doing to that woman?"

"Ah, John, that's no woman!" Sherlock shouted back as the woman (who indeed, was no woman at all, but a short, ugly man and master extortionist also known as Joey "The Toad" Leguano) bent down and tried to pull a knife from his carry-all.

"Sherlock, what the… oh, hell." John threw aside his pencil and launched himself into the fray.

* * *

The struggle was short, and much like Joey "The Toad", ugly.

Paper was thrown, pencils broken, the purple-haired instructor nearly scarred for life, and an easel very nearly ended up in a highly unusual place.

"You're lucky you weren't actually sodomized by that thing, you know," John remarked as he applied gauze and tape to Sherlock's left buttock in the anteroom where the models changed.

Sherlock grunted.

"I knew that Leguano had a thing for art classes; it was only a matter of deduction and patience."

"Right. And posing nude got you where, exactly?"

"The arrest was made. Really, John, you do make such a fuss about the most irrelevant things."

"I'd hardly call your arse irrelevant," John said.

Sherlock turned and looked at him, grimacing slightly.

"Now, was that _that_ difficult to admit?" he asked.

"Now, look. Just because you think you've managed to be brilliant because you're bloody Sherlock Holmes, and…"

John's tirade was cut off mid-torrent.

"And?" Sherlock asked, breaking the kiss. "I saw you, John. I saw you watching me tonight. I've seen you watching me in the flat, heard you wanking. Did you know that?"

"Now, look, Sherlock, what a man does in the privacy of his bedroom…"

"And the loo. And once in the kitchen. That's why you're hard right now, isn't it, John?"

"Sherlock! I am not, nor have I ever been… Well, there was that one time, and then tonight when…"

"Are you two finished?" a familiar voice interrupted.

"Oh, God, Lestrade."

"Don't worry, John," Sherlock said, levering himself off of the table and pulling up his trousers. "We will definitely finish this later." He touched John's cheek with gentle fingers, leaning in to brush his lips against John's forehead. "Count on it," he whispered.

John took a few moments after Sherlock left to recite all the members of the English National Side. And then the All Blacks, just to be safe.

The last thing he needed was Lestrade asking him if it was a paintbrush in his pocket, or if he was just happy to see him.

**Author's Note:**

> Not mine, no money.
> 
> Written for the Kinkmeme prompt where somebody has to pose naked. For a case, of course.
> 
> I tried for humor and pron and just ended up with silly. Ah, well.
> 
> Special thanks to bluestocking79 and annietalbot for their tireless patience with me.


End file.
